


Whatever Good it Does

by Griselda_Gimpel



Series: Queen & Knight [4]
Category: DCU (Comics), Suicide Squad (Comics), The Spectre (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Gen, Implied/Referenced Genocide, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Intrigue, Ripped From the Headlines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27894718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griselda_Gimpel/pseuds/Griselda_Gimpel
Summary: Count Vertigo is tasked with investigating a congressman as a favor to Oracle. Crispus Allen, disillusioned with the Spectre's concept of justice, decides to investigate his next target the old fashion way. Their paths cross.Set before Final Crisis. COMPLETE.
Series: Queen & Knight [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2169015
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone reading this, how do you feel about fan fic series? Does it make you more or less likely to read a fic if it's part of a series? (This is sort of a sequel to The Secretary, the Spider, and the Spy; but it can be read standalone.)

Jaime Reyes, the third Blue Beetle, was excited when he got the alert that there was a bank robbery occurring at the First El Paso Bank. Then he felt guilty about feeling excited. Still, bank robberies didn’t happen often. He let his parents know what was occurring, dashed out the back door, and powered up his armor. He shifted it to have a rocket and wings and was quickly on his way to the bank.

He arrived to find that not only was the First El Paso Bank being robbed, but that it was being robbed by a bona fide supervillain. He was dressed in green and wearing a mask. He had one hand to his temple, and in the other hand, he was holding a bulging brown bag with a dollar sign stenciled on it. The authorities who should have been arresting the supervillain were all busy vomiting, and as Jaime drew closer, the supervillain leapt into the air. The news people – they were clustered outside of the authorities and not retching – turned their cameras upward to follow the villain’s trajectory.

“Who is this?” Jaime asked Khaji-Da.

“Count Werner Vertigo,” Khaji-Da responded. “Affiliations: Task Force X, the Department of Extranormal Operations, the Injustice Society, the Society, and the Checkmate division of U.N.”

“So, what, half the time he’s a supervillain, and the other half of the time, he works for the government?”

“Affirmative.”

“He should just run for political office then,” Jaime joked. “Okay, what are his powers?”

“He has a balance disruptor that causes disorientation and vomiting. I can generate a waveform that counters the disruptor. He can also fly. Proposed method of attack: ballistic missiles.”

“Wait, wait, wait. If all he can do is fly, why don’t I just grab him? You keep his disruptor from affecting us.”

Jaime put on a burst of speed and rammed into Vertigo, knocking the wind out of him. The money sack Vertigo had been holding fell. Before Vertigo could recover his breath, Jaime grabbed one wrist and then the other, twisting them behind Vertigo’s back. Vertigo struggled, trying to escape him.

“Stop struggling,” Jaime said. “You’re liable to hurt yourself.”

Vertigo did stop struggling and then twisted his head around to try to look at Jaime. “Is the latest Blue Beetle a minor?” He sounded incredulous.

“No, of course not,” Jaime responded, trying to make his voice sound deeper than it was. Even Jaime didn’t think it sounded very convincing. Vertigo went limp in his grip.

“Urgh,” the supervillain moaned. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. I’d never be able to live it down.”

“I am a legal adult,” Jaime insisted.

“I don’t think you’re convincing him,” Khaji-da remarked.

“Be quiet!”

“I wasn’t saying anything,” Vertigo protested.

“Not you!”

“Just hand me over to the police already.”

“I’m never going to complain about saving Boomers from fires again,” Jaime muttered under his breath as he handed Vertigo over to two waiting police officers. They handcuffed him, put him in the back of the squad car, and drove away. Jaime went home, powered down his suit, and came inside just in time to catch a breaking news report that Count Vertigo had escaped custody and was now at large.

\---

After escaping “police custody”, Vertigo ducked into a dead-end alley. There he retrieved a briefcase he had stashed in advance. Inside was a charcoal gray suit. He took off his mask and cape and stuffed them inside the briefcase, pulling on the slacks, dress shirt, and jacket over his spandex. The suit included a matching trilby and a red tie, both of which he put on. There was also a backup balance disruptor in the briefcase, as there had been a solid chance that Blue Beetle would have destroyed Vertigo’s in stopping him. Fortuitously, that hadn’t happened. Vertigo mentally gave Blue Beetle five stars. Would recommend being apprehended by him again. 

Now invisible to law enforcement, he picked up the briefcase and walked to the nearest bus stop. The relevant bus pass was already in the pocket of his suit. Two stops later, he walked three blocks to a warehouse that the officially-but-not-really mercenary Suicide Squad was using as a temporary base. Vertigo slipped inside and took stock.

“Damn it, Black, put some pants on!”

Danton Black A.K.A. Multiplex, from his place on the couch, gave him a noncommittal shrug and tied the bathrobe he was wearing shut. He didn’t ask how the mission had gone. One of Multiplex’s duplicates had been one of the “cops” who had handled Vertigo’s “arrest”. Vertigo assumed that the Multiplex in front of him was the original, but he didn’t know for sure. Ben Turner A.K.A. Bronze Tiger, who was leading their team, knew. As did Amanda Waller, who was directing them from behind the scenes.

The door of the warehouse opened and close again as Bronze Tiger, the second “cop” involved in the arrest, came in. He was followed by the Multiplex duplicate. Both of them were still dressed as officers of the law.

“Chip N’ Dale costumes, Black? Really?” Bronze Tiger asked.

The Multiplex on the couch shrugged. “They were cheap.”

Bronze Tiger gave a shudder. “Please don’t tell me these are second hand.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

“Ugh. I’m going to go take a shower. Maybe two showers. Plastique and the kid still out getting supplies?”

“Yep.”

The door to a side room opened, and another Multiplex duplicate stuck his head out. “Boss Lady wants to talk to you, Count. On the secure line.”

Vertigo nodded and followed the duplicate into the room. He took the phone, and the duplicate left. The secure line had been put in at Oracle’s specifications, which meant that it was very secure.

“You’re reputation suitably soiled, Werner?” Amanda Waller asked.

“Should be,” Vertigo answered. “Now we wait to see if it’s enough for Vesetch.”

“The escort job should help us reel in the fishy there,” Waller said. “About that – tell Ben that he and Plastique going to have to do the job without you. Have him take Junior instead.”

“Will do.”

“Oracle needs a favor,” Waller explained. “Are you familiar with Congressman Norbert Plank?”

Vertigo thought hard. The name did seem to ring a bell. “He’s the Chair of the Meta-human Subcommittee, right? As I recall, you were also complaining what a pain in your neck he was.”

“That’s him. Oracle’s been watching his bank account.”

“Any particular reason?”

“She watches all of their bank accounts on principle. But Plank’s the one that threw a red flag. Well, one of the ones. He’s been irregularly withdrawing $9000. Does it several times whenever he’s back in sweet home Alabama. Makes frequent visits to the safe deposit box area, too. No cameras down there, of course.”

“So nothing for Oracle to hack. How long has this been occurring?”

“Oracle went back through the bank records. It’s been going on for six years now.”

Vertigo considered this. Oracle had a lot to occupy her time, and this wouldn’t have been the most pressing issue in front of her, but it was high time someone looked into the situation.

“You’d like me to check it out?”

“You got it. Find out what the good congressman is doing with the money.”

“On it.” 

Vertigo hung up the phone, made arrangements under an alias while he waited for Bronze Tiger to finish his showers so that he could inform him of the change of plans, and then packed for a trip to Birmingham, Alabama.


	2. Chapter 2

Congressman Norbert Plank was giving a speech for Confederate Memorial Day at the megachurch in the town. Had it been a different day, it might have been the birthday of Robert E. Lee or Jefferson Davis that was being celebrated. Crispus Allen was in the audience. He was the only Black person in the audience, but no one who looked at him “saw” him. That was one of the powers of the Spectre. He wouldn’t be seen until he wished to be.

It was the powers of the Spectre that had led Allen to the megachurch. He was the Angel of Vengeance, and just looking at Plank made his blood broil. The Congressman would have had to have done something horrendous to draw Allen all the way from Gotham, but Allen did not yet know what it was. If he got close to Plank, he’d be able to see his sins, but something in Allen rebelled.

He’d been the Spectre long enough to know how it would play out. He’d discern what Plank had done. He’d punish Plank in some gruesome manner that would be vaguely karmic. The entity inside of Allen that made him the Spectre – the part of him that wasn’t him – would be satisfied. But there would be no justice. Bloody retribution wouldn’t undo any of the evil that Plank had done. Violence wouldn’t heal those Plank had hurt.

And it had been the vengeance of the Spectre that had cost Allen’s son his life, after his son had murdered the corrupt cop who’d murdered Allen. No, the vengeance of the Spectre wasn’t just at all.

Coming to a decision, Allen held the bloodlust of the Spectre in check. He was going to do this one the old fashion way, the way he’d always done things as one of the few honest cops in Gotham. Allen felt the other entity stir within him. It was confused, but it relented to Allen’s insistence. So Allen stayed invisible and let Plank’s sermon continue.

“They took Jesus out of our schools!” the Congressman bellowed. “And what has that wrought? Our precious children have been corrupted by Satanism and atheism and liberalism!”

The sermon continued for quite some time. Allen stayed quiet and took it all in. Then, when the event ended, Allen silently trailed behind Plank when he left. When Plank got into his car and directed his car to take him to his hotel, Allen shifted to his Spectre form and drifted silently and invisibly in the air behind it. Plank presumably ordered room service because he didn’t leave his hotel again for the night. Allen knew this because he was conducting stakeout. It was easier than when he was alive; being dead, he was not subject to the pains of hunger or the calls of nature.

Allen sensed uncertainty from the other being within himself, and Allen mentally told it that he wanted justice, not just vengeance. The other being was still uncertain, but it yielded to Allen’s judgment. He sensed in some vague way that it trusted him more than it trusted itself.

In the morning, Plank went out, and Allen followed him. The town was in the district that Plank represented, and it was where he’d spent his whole life before getting into politics. Allen knew from his background research that Plank had been a P.E. teacher at the local high school before starting his political career.

Shifting back to his human form but staying unnoticed, Allen followed Plank into the bank. Once inside, Plank told an employee he needed to visit his safe deposit box. She fetched the master key, confirmed that Plank had his key, and instructed him to follow her. It was right then that a blond-haired man in a business suit bumped into the two of them, causing all of them to fall to the floor. Both keys made a clattering noise as they hit the tile floor.

Allen saw what happened next because of his time as a police officer. The blond-haired man ran some small, handheld device over both keys, and Allen saw the red light emitting from the underside of the device. Then he deftly slipped the device back in his pocket, handed both keys back to their owners, and apologized profusely for his clumsiness. All of this set off the alarm of every instinct Allen had developed as a cop, but the bizarre thing was that the other being inside of him was completely silent. Allen strongly suspected that it should have been baying for blood at the crime that was clearly in progress, but Allen got nothing from it. Allen mentally prodded it and felt it withdraw into itself further. Allen did a mental check. He still had all of his powers. The blond-haired man hadn’t done anything to interfere there, but for some reason, the Spectre part of Allen wanted to avoid him.

The blond-haired man, with further polite apologies, exited the bank. Plank and the bank employee headed through the door to the stairs to the safe deposit room. Allen had to make a decision and make it fast. He had many powers as an Angel of the Lord, but being in two places at once wasn’t one of them. Reasoning that Plank would be easier to find later, Allen followed the blond-haired man.

The blond-haired man walked a few blocks and then turned into a bakery. Allen thought he was going to order food, but the man walked straight to the back room. More curious than ever, Allen followed him. The man didn’t notice. Allen hadn’t allowed him to notice yet.

The man went through a door, which led to a flight of stairs. Once in the room upstairs, he fished the device out of his pocket and plugged it into a machine. As Allen watched, the machine whirled to life, and Allen realized it was a 3D printer. Before his eyes, the machine produced a replica of the two keys that would be needed to access Plank’s self-deposit box.

Allen decided that it was time to let himself be known. “You know, bank robbery is a crime,” he intoned. The man spun around and started at the sight of him. Allen watched as a number of thoughts flickered across the man’s face. First there was surprise to find someone in the room with him. Then the man did a quick scan of Allen, no doubt looking for advanced tech that would have concealed him. This was followed by acceptance as the man saw that he was outclassed.

“Then arrest me,” the man said simply.

Allen hesitated. Something wasn’t right. It wasn’t just that the man didn’t seem afraid of him; that just meant that he was a crook accustomed to working with powerful individuals. Nor was it his lack of concern about the possibility of arrest; that just indicated he had powerful friends. No, what was giving Allen pause was that the other being inside of him was still bizarrely quiet when it should have been screaming for retribution.

Still, there was an easy way for Allen to get the information he needed. He could draw forth the sins an induvial had committed, see their own mental world and the ugliness it held. Allen stepped forward and willed the man’s sins to come forth.

_Acres and acres of nothing. There were no dead bodies; the Spectre had burned them all. No structures other than the castle of the Vertigo family still stood; the Spectre had leveled Vlatava flat. Everything was gone. In a flash, it had all been destroyed. The only living beings left were Count Vertigo and General Hafza, who were left utterly devastated by the wanton slaughter the Spectre had perpetrated._

Allen pulled back, reeling. His attempt to see someone’s sins had never gone like that before. The man – Count Werner Vertigo, Allen now knew – was glaring him. It was obvious that he had experienced the same thing Allen had.

“You’re _him_ ,” Vertigo said finally, loathing dripping off the word. “The newest Spectre.”

“Perhaps we should talk,” Allen said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would imagine that the Alabama of the DC-verse would have some differences compared to our Alabama, but then again, I can't think of a single big crossover event that had Alabama as the setting, so maybe not.


	3. Chapter 3

The room contained a small table but only one chair. Allen gestured for Vertigo to take it, but Vertigo shook his head.

“This is my place, which makes you the guest,” he insisted. “The rules of hospitality dictate it to be so.”

“I do appreciate a hospitable crook,” Allen said as he took the seat, but he smiled as he said it. Vertigo didn’t deny his accusation. He just stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

“I’d offer you tea, but this room doesn’t come equipped with a kitchen,” he said.

“I’m Crispus Allen.” He held out his hand, and Vertigo stiffly shook it.

Vertigo let his hand drop. “It wasn’t you,” he said uncomfortably.

“Excuse me?”

“It wasn’t you who slaughtered my countrymen,” Vertigo elaborated. “That was the other Spectre. He’s gone now, and nothing can be done about it.”

“I didn’t know,” Allen said, but he understood now why the other being in him had been so quiet, and he wondered if the “other Spectre” was as gone as Vertigo believed.

“It was covered up,” Vertigo said simply. “He was a Justice Society member, after all.”

“So now you rob banks?”

Vertigo didn’t answer. Allen sighed.

“Look, you can tell me, or I can use my powers to find out. But doing that to _you_ seems to dredge up some bad memories, so let’s just do things the easy way, please?”

“Very well. I’m investigating some suspicious financial activity that Congressman Plank has been engaging in. I don’t intend to take anything from his safe deposit box, merely inquire as to its contents.”

“Investigating on whose behalf?”

“The Devil herself,” Vertigo answered flippantly, “for whom not even you are a match.” But he didn’t seem _afraid_. Whoever Vertigo’s boss was, he enjoyed working for her.

Allen considered things. The cop part of him wanted all the information, but this was the first question Vertigo hadn’t been forthcoming on. Clearly, he wanted to protect his employer. Still, he frowned. “I need more than that.”

“Are you familiar with Oracle?”

“I’ve never met them, but I know them by reputation.”

“It’s a favor for them.”

“That’s sufficient. I am investigating Congressman Plank, as well. On behalf of the Lord. He stinks of sin.”

“What did he do?”

“I don’t know yet.” Allen saw Vertigo frown and so added, “I don’t care much for the ‘justice’ I’m supposed to dole out. I think you can sympathize. So I’m doing this one by the book. I used to be a cop, back before I bit it.”

“I wasn’t going to bother with a warrant,” Vertigo admitted.

“Not that by the book,” Allen conceded. “I’m not a cop any longer. But I want to find evidence of his crimes and have him brought before a court of law.”

“Shall we team up then?” Vertigo suggested. “Lest we keep running into each other.”

“That depends. Were you also planning to let the law handle it?”

“I’m planning to hand the information off to my employer, who will deliver it to Oracle.”

“That’s fine. Oracle will arrange for it to get to the authorities.”

Vertigo scooped the two keys into his pocket, and he explained what he knew as they walked back to the bank. There, Vertigo produced documents identifying him as “Werner Knight” and requested to open a safe deposit box. A bank employee – a different one from before – led him down the stairs and then left him alone. Well, the bank employee thought he was leaving him alone. Allen chose not to let the bank employee see him and so was left in the room with Vertigo.

“That one,” Allen said immediately, pointing at a box on the far wall. “It reeks.”

“Quicker than my way,” Vertigo said and opened up the safe deposit box belong to Congressman Plank. Inside were stacks of hundred-dollar bills. Allen shifted them aside and pulled out a packet of legal documents. He flipped through them.

“Congressman Plank is being sued,” Allen explained. He double checked the box but there wasn’t anything else in it. He jotted down some information from the legal documents and then replaced them. Vertigo locked it back up, and they left, returning to the room above the bakery. There, Allen related what he’d read in more detail.

“A mosque?” Vertigo asked.

“Right here in town,” Allen said. “Plank sponsored a bill banning the construction of minarets.”

“The architecture?”

“Yep. The mosque is suing on First Amendment grounds.”

“Shall we check out the mosque then?”

“Got money for a cab?”

“I do. So, payoff money for the lawsuit?” Vertigo mused as they left the building. “If the bribe is in amounts larger than $10,000 dollar increments, he’d need to store the excess in the safe deposit box until it was time to use it.”

Allen frowned. “It does sound like we’re looking at a case of bribery, but something doesn’t feel right.” He shook his head. “Bribery wouldn’t draw me here all the way from Gotham.”

The cab arrived, and they got in. Vertigo gave the location, and the cabbie dropped them off in front of the mosque. They left their shoes outside and went in. There was an office to the right. It was slightly ajar. Allen took the lead and shoved it all the way open. There was a balding, middle-aged man sitting behind the desk. He looked up with a start when they entered, but it was not on Allen that he focused.

“Count Vertigo?” he asked incredulously.

“General Hafza?” Vertigo asked in the exact same tones.

Then Allen put the face of the man to the vision he’d gotten from Vertigo. He knew with certainty that if he tried to read Hafza’s sins, he’d get the same vision, for the man before him had also been present at the destruction of Vlatava. During the civil war that had torn the country apart, Count Vertigo had commanded one army, and General Hafza had commanded the other. As if to confirm it, Allen felt the other within him shrink even further within itself, making it clear that it no more wished to interact with Hafza than it did with Vertigo.


	4. Chapter 4

Count Vertigo and General Hafza stared at each other in silence for a moment as the tension mounted. Then Vertigo held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I didn’t come here to do violence,” he said crisply.

“Very well,” Hafza said. The tension in the room lowered half a degree. Hafza cast his eyes at Allen, who was still permitting himself to be seen. “Who’s that?”

“The Spectre-“ Vertigo began. Further words were interrupted by Hafza shoving his chair back and standing up. The bottoms of the legs made a screeching sound as they were dragged across the linoleum floor.

“What have you come here for?” he demanded of Allen. “I have renounced violence. I am a pacifist now. I adhere to the Five Pillars. Can you not just leave me in peace?” His voice shook at the last words, and tears trembled at the corner of his eyes.

“He’s a different Spectre,” Vertigo added hastily. “The one we- that one is gone. This is Crispus Allen. He wasn’t the one who destroyed Vlatava.”

“A different Spectre,” Hafza echoed.

“Yes,” Allen said. He gave Hafza a moment to process it all before proceeding. “We’re here because this mosque is engaged in a lawsuit against Congressman Plank.”

“And you object?” Hafza asked heatedly.

“Not in the slightest,” Allen assured him. “We came here because we thought he might be bribing you, but I can feel now that that is not the case. So we just want to know if you know anything about him.”

“We’re looking to bring him down,” Vertigo added, and Hafza finally relaxed. Allen extended a hand, and Hafza shook it briefly.

“I think I can help you then,” he said. “I’ve been trying to find out everything I can about him, to help with the lawsuit.”

“And you found something?” Allen asked.

“I think so. I haven’t had a chance to follow up on it. Here, let me show you.” Hafza came out from behind his desk and began fiddling with a television that was set on a stand in the corner. It was an old cathode ray television with a VCR hooked up to it. There was a stack of tapes on the stand next to the television. Hafza took the one on the top of the stack and pushed it into the VCR. He rewound a few minutes and then let the tape play.

It was of a townhall meeting that Congressman Plank had done six years prior. There was a host and Plank on the stage and constituents in the audience. There was also a rotary telephone on a stool. Periodically, it would ring and the host would answer it. The host had a microphone he could hold up to the phone, so that the person on the other end could be heard. In this way, Plank was able to field questions not just from the audience but also from constituents who wanted to call in.

“Wait for it,” Hafza muttered as Plank took a question from the audience. Right as he finished, the phone rang loudly. The host picked it up, and the person on the other end spoke. It was a peculiar question that he asked.

“Remember me?” the voice on the other end of the phone said. “Do you remember me, Coach Plank?” Then he laughed mirthlessly before hanging up. The host chuckled nervously and made a remark about prank calls before Hafza paused the tape.

“The caller…?” Allen asked.

Hafza looked smug. “His name is Brad Townsend.”

“How were you able to determine that?” Vertigo asked. He didn’t think even Oracle would have been able to identify the caller from the clip.

“He’s a local lad,” Hafza admitted. “Our imam went to school with him. He was able to put a face to the voice. He couldn’t remember his name at first, but he was able to look it up in the yearbook.”

“Where is Mr. Townsend now?” Allen asked.

“He moved to Springfield, Missouri,” Hafza said. “I was finally able to track down his whereabouts the other day. I’ve actually got a ticket to fly out there tomorrow.”

“Do you mind if we join you?” Allen asked.

“If it means busting Plank for the corrupt, venal, hypocritical piece of slime that he is, I’d partner with the Devil himself.”

“Very well,” Allen said. “We will meet you at the Springfield airport. I do not require a plane to fly.”

“Nor I,” Vertigo said.

Hafza gave them his flight details, and they explained the information they’d uncovered. “He paid off his house,” Hafza said when they told him about the money Plank had been withdrawing. “Townsend, I mean. I thought that was strange.” Vertigo and Allen exchanged looks. Perhaps this was the missing piece of the puzzle. Then Vertigo and Allen bid their farewells and left.

Hafza finished out for the day and went home to his empty apartment. He’d already packed, so he tried to read but just found himself fidgeting. He would have cleaned his apartment, but it was already spotless.

He’d fallen to pieces when Vlatava had first been destroyed. He barely remembered applying for refugee status in the United States. There’d been some television interviews – or at least attempts at interviews – but Hafza had had an unnerving tendency to just stare at the interviewers instead of answering questions, so none of them had aired, as far as he was aware.

The refugee program had him relocated to this town in Alabama because the local Muslim community, while small, was heavily Vlatavan in ancestry. It was the imam of the mosque who’d helped Hafza get his life back on track. Now Hafza was able to function, but too many days his apartment still felt too empty and quiet.

“What a strange day it’s been,” he said out loud, just to hear the sound of a voice. Maybe he should get a cat. Then there’d be someone to talk to. He would have been happy never to see Count Vertigo or the Spectre ever again in his life. Now he was going to be working with them. “Alhamdulillah,” he said finally. The situation was what it was. He performed his nighttime prayers and turned in for the night.


	5. Chapter 5

The Springfield airport in Missouri was the tiniest airport that Hafza had ever visited. It had only a few terminals, and airport security looked like they were all about to fall asleep or die of boredom. It was a far cry from the O’Hare airport in Chicago where Hafza had caught his connecting flight. There, he’d had to run in order to make it to his departure terminal in time. It thus wasn’t hard at all to spot Vertigo and Allen in the lobby. It wasn’t like there was a crowd to hide them.

They rented a car and Hafza drove to the address he’d identified as the home of Brad Townsend. After a bit of a drive, they located the correct house on the right street, parked and got out. Allen rang the doorbell. After a moment, Townsend opened it cautiously. He looked from Hafza to Allen to Vertigo, and it was then that his eyes lit up in recognition.

“I know you!” he exclaimed. “You’re Count Vertigo!”

“At your service,” Vertigo said, giving a courtly bow.

“May we come in?” Allen asked.

“Uh,” Townsend hesitated, shuffling his feet. “Not sure if I should be inviting supervillains in for tea, even if they aren’t in costume.”

“Please,” said Allen winsomely, “he may be a supervillain, but I’m an Angel of the Lord.” Allen shifted then into his Spectre form. Hafza flinched. Vertigo did the same. Wordlessly, Allen resumed his mortal guise.

“Oh, you’re the Spectre! You’re on the JSA!”

“That was one of my predecessors, but I am the Spectre.”

“I guess that’s okay then,” Townsend said. The three men followed him into his living room. There was a sagging, scratchy couch of an indeterminate shade of brown set behind a coffee table with scratches on it. An oil on canvass painting of Black Canary spanned the wall behind the couch. It was exquisitely – if perhaps not tastefully – done. Vertigo glanced around the home and spotted more Black Canary paraphernalia. On the coffee table was a photo album, but instead of containing pictures of Townsend, it contained news clippings of Black Canary’s cases. Vertigo flipped through it and found one about Black Canary thwarting his jewelry heist. He could see now why Townsend was able to recognize him.

“I’m Brad Townsend,” their host said.

“Crispus Allen.”

“Amir Hafza.”

“Supervillain? Angel?” Townsend asked him.

“I have a desk job at a mosque,” Hafza answered.

“Should I be converting to Islam or something?” Townsend asked Allen.

Allen shrugged in response. “I’m an atheist.”

“How are you an atheist?” Vertigo asked him.

“Determination,” Allen answered with a grin. He turned back to Townsend. “But this isn’t a theology visit. We wanted to ask you about Congressman Norbert Plank.”

The enthusiasm disappeared from Townsend’s face. It was as if all the lights in the room had dimmed suddenly. Townsend sat down on the couch and let himself sink into it. “What about him?”

“Are you blackmailing him?” Allen asked.

Townsend glanced up on Allen’s face. “Yeah,” he said defiantly. “I am.”

“What about?” Vertigo asked.

Townsend pressed his lips together and didn’t answer.

“The reason we are here,” Allen said gently, “is because we want to bring Congressman Plank to justice. If you know something that could be of use to the authorities, we need you to come forward.”

Townsend gave a bark of a laugh. Like the laugh on the phone call at the town hall, there was no mirth in it. “There’s nothing you can do,” he said bitterly. “The statute of limitations expired years ago, back when I was still too young and messed up from- from-“ Townsend started to cry then, but he continued speaking. “I was sixteen. I looked it up. There’s no limit for ‘sex offenses with minors under sixteen’, but I’d just turned sixteen the first time I had him as a coach, so I had until I was twenty-two to- to pursue a case against a sitting Congressmen. When I wasn’t even able to talk about it until- God, I still can’t even talk about it. He gets to be a beloved politician, and I still have what he did to me fucking up my life all these years later. So yeah, I’m blackmailing him. Fifteen thousand a month. It’s the least the damned bastard can do.” When he finished his speech, silence settled over the room, and it was a moment before anyone else spoke.

“Structuring,” Vertigo finally said softly.

“What?” Townsend asked confusedly.

Hafza snapped his fingers. “Isn’t that when, oh what was it, I remember the imam talking about it with the donations our mosque gets. Something about deposits.”

Allen’s mind was back to his policing days like lightning. “It’s due to the Bank Security Act. Transactions for more than $10,000 have to have a currency transaction report.”

Townsend was still staring at them blankly, so Vertigo took over the explanation. “Transactions over $10,000 are often associated with criminal activity.”

“But not always,” Hafza said. The details of what the imam had said were coming back to him. “The mosque got looked into a couple of years back, but there wasn’t any crime, so nothing came of it.”

“Right,” Allen said. “The transactions themselves aren’t illegal. But what is illegal is deliberately breaking up transactions so as to avoid currency transaction reports from being filed.”

“That is the crime of structuring,” Vertigo concluded triumphantly.

It took Townsend a moment to process all of the legalese, but a glimmer of hope began to dawn on his face as the explanation sunk in.

“You mean that Plank’s been breaking the law when he paid me?”

“Almost assuredly so,” Allen said. He smiled reassuringly at Townsend. “I shouldn’t think that your name needs to be brought into this.”

“Now that we know what’s going on, we can get the information to the right people,” Vertigo agreed. “Plank will go to jail for this.”

“Really?” Townsend asked. A note of optimism was creeping into his voice.

“Yes, for a few years, at least,” Vertigo promised. “I….know people. They can make sure of it.”

A thoughtful expression crossed Townsend’s face. He looked from Vertigo to Allen to Hafza. “So how did a supervillain, an angel, and a desk jockey come to show up at my house to bring a scumbag to justice?”

The three visitors looked at each other and shrugged. “It just happened that way,” Allen said. “We’ll take our leave of you now. I hope you find the healing you need.”

“Thank you.”

Outside, the three men got into the car again. Hafza started to head back to the airport, but Allen spoke up. “Is there a place we can talk privately? There is more that needs to be settled.” 


	6. Chapter 6

Crispus Allen had spent the previous night talking to the other being within him. It was a strange sort of conversation because the other wasn’t entirely separate from him any more than it was the same as him. It hadn’t been a conversation as an exchange of dialogue but more like thoughts floating into Allen’s head that he knew somehow hadn’t originated with him. It was a slow conveyance of information, but Allen didn’t need to sleep. The information concerned a previous incarnation of the Spectre, a distant relative of the man who’d taken Allen’s life.

\---

Wordlessly, Hafza drove the car. He drove for some time under a heavy silence, but Allen did not grow impatient. Finally, when well out of town and thoroughly in the middle of nowhere, Hafza pulled the car off the road, parking beneath a sign for Silver Dollar City. He and Vertigo exchanged looks and a wordless agreement. Whatever it was that Allen wanted said, they’d do everything they could to stop it from ending in horrific violence. Allen saw, and they saw that he saw. They were unrepentant.

“Different Spectre or not, you’re still the Spectre,” Hafza said.

Vertigo nodded in agreement. “If you have judged us to have trespassed, let it come down on our heads alone.”

“It is not that,” Allen said. “I am, how do I put this? There are two aspects of me. One of them is Crispus Allen, who in life was a Gotham police detective. The other is the essence of the Spectre. That essence is always present for all of the Spectres. When I’m pronouncing judgement on someone, we speak as one. These past few days, it’s pretty much been just me. But now, _he_ wants to speak to you.”

Comprehension was dawning on Vertigo and Hafza’s faces as Allen allowed the other part of himself to take control. He could still see and hear, but it was another’s will the formed the words on his lips.

“It was I who destroyed Vlatava,” his mouth spoke.

It was Hafza who responded. “Why?” he demanded. “We were talking! You were forcing us to talk. We were shouting accusations, yes, but we were in your power. You could have held us until we were forced to come to a peace agreement. Instead, you- you-” His tirade sputtered out and died.

“I am told that I was an angel,” said Allen’s mouth. “I am told that my name was Aztar. I do not remember. I rebelled against the Lord but then repented of my sins. My fate was to become the essence of the Spectre. I…rely on the mortals I am bounded with for guidance in our duty.

“There was once another cop I was bound to. His name was Jim Corrigan, and it was he who was the guiding hand in the judgement we pronounced on Vlatava. He said it was right, until later, when he said it was wrong. In repenting the sin of my rebellion, I committed an even greater sin.”

Hafza and Vertigo exchanged bleak glances. It was an utterly insufficient apology for country-wide destruction. But then, what apology could be sufficient? It was again Hafza who spoke.

“My-” His throat constricted, and he had to swallow hard before he could speak again. “During the war, my wife begged me to make peace with Count Vertigo. ‘Surely Vlatava is big enough for all of us!’ she used to say. But I convinced myself that the Count couldn’t be trusted. And I had an opportunity to have one of his lieutenants assassinated. I told myself that it would win the war. I told myself that if I put off the opportunity, we’d lose the chance. And now she’s gone. And if I’d know what, what losing her would be like-” He swallowed hard again before finishing. “-I would have bent my knee to the Count in a heartbeat.”

It was Vertigo who spoke then. “The first time I returned to Vlatava after my exile as a child, my only thought was that it should be _I_ who sat in the seat of power. I didn’t care about my subjects. I only cared that they were _mine_. When the Communist regime fell, I thought I could be a unifying figure and bring peace to the country. What a fool I was! I wasn’t even able to see that everyone in Vlatava belonged in Vlatava. Hafza was a better leader than I was anyway. But I couldn’t see him as anything other than an enemy.”

“I am sorry for all the pain that I have wrought,” Aztar said softly. Then he relinquished control and faded back within Allen.

“Go in peace,” Allen told them. He took a step backward and then let himself drift up into the air. He could feel sin all around him calling to him, but he decided that first he would visit his son’s grave. It was past due time for him to leave flowers on it.

Hafza held out his hand, and Vertigo clasped it firmly. Then Vertigo fished into his pocket and pulled out a business card. He handed it to his former enemy. “If you ever need anything, give me a call. I have connections. They can be useful for cutting through red tape or drawing attention to things.”

“Thank you,” Hafza said. “If you ever find yourself in my neck of the woods, know that there’s a place for you to stay the night.”

“Then I thank you, as well,” Vertigo said. He launched himself into the sky and headed off in a south-west direction.

Hafza got back in his rented car and drove back to the airport. He would get a cat, he decided. The imam was always encouraging people to adopt from the local rescue agency. He’d get a nice noisy cat and then maybe the apartment wouldn’t feel so quiet.

\---

After his flight, Vertigo landed outside the safe house in El Paso and went inside. Bronze Tiger grinned broadly when he saw him.

“The escort job was smoo-ooth,” Captain Boomerang Jr. bragged from where he lounged on the couch.

“It did go well,” Bronze Tiger said. “So well that Vesetch got back to us. We’re in as their new security detail. Now we can find out what those bastards have been up to.”

“Mrs. Waller will be pleased,” Vertigo said. “My mission was a success, also. Let me pass the information on, and then you can brief me on our next step.”


End file.
